


Of Predators and their Prey

by choraki



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Human!John, Hunter!John, M/M, Slave!lock, Vamp!lock, Vampire!Lock, pet!lock, vampire!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choraki/pseuds/choraki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, for his part, was indeed a vampire. A creature depending on humans, envying their ability to live without having the necessary need of drinking blood every now and then, yet despising their incredibly dull and narrow-minded nature. Oh, how he hated them sometimes. Stupid idiots, completely unaware of the 'real world'. But, as already said, a vampire was nevertheless dependant on those tedious creatures, resulting in Sherlock going on a hunt once in a while. </p><p>But who would have expected the meal to be a hunter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A friendly encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Not my first fanfiction at all, but certainly the first in English. I will try to post a chapter perhaps once a week, even though I cannot promise anything.
> 
> Forgive me the first rather short chapter, the lengths will expand further on! Hope you'll enjoy~
> 
> Also, this is based on a roleplay I had and later on continued via E-Mail.

Vampires have always been dangerous creatures, no matter if the human race was aware of them or not. In fact, they once have been; hunted those blood-sucking monsters with pitchforks and torches. But now, in the century of smartphones, the internet and those wonderful vampire films, no one actually cared anymore. Humans had grown oblivious to their daily neighbours.

Sherlock Holmes, for his part, was indeed a vampire. A creature depending on humans, envying their ability to live without having the necessary need of drinking blood every now and then, yet despising their incredibly dull and narrow-minded nature. Oh, how he hated them sometimes. Stupid idiots, completely unaware of the 'real world'. But, as already said, a vampire was nevertheless dependant on those tedious creatures, resulting in Sherlock going on a hunt once in a while.

Usually, he merely used blood bags for his own survival, but warm, fresh blood out of someone's vein usually did a better job than the canned food being bought in the morgue.

He was currently marching along a lonely alleyway, nothing but the clicking of his shoes audible in dark. The night was cool, a little freezing even, yet the clear sky was boasting with shining stars and a bright moon towering over London. But the brunet didn't notice the beauty. His mind was focused on nothing but the mere feeding he was determined to get this night, as his icy blue eyes scanned his surroundings, and his attentive hearing tried to get a hint of perhaps another drunken human being nearby.

Blood from a drunk person perhaps wasn't the best – it indeed tasted a little bitter even – but it was better than nothing. And since this ridiculous ability of actually hypnotising someone with merely a vampire's gaze was complete bullshit, Sherlock had to rely on the less attentive state of a human mind when being drugged by alcohol; or other substances.

Sherlock made his way down the alley, eventually turning around the next corner, when then an all of sudden burst of pain down his spine immediately pushed him into a fight-or-flight-stance. Fangs bared towards the attacker, he snarled and hissed in displeasure, trying to perhaps frighten the person off – whomever it might have been – as his genius mind then finally realised the actual situation.

A steely blade being pressed to his throat, almost even cutting through the sensitive skin, and another firm grip keeping his right hand pinned to the brick wall.

“Don't you dare doing anything stupid right now, leech.”

Sherlock's orbs scanned the man in front of himself, fangs nevertheless bared in warning. He was blond, obviously shorter than himself; mid-thirty, ex-army... hunter.

Great.

“Or I'll simply cut your throat, and pierce your heart right after.”

Well, why didn't he kill him right off, then? Threats were never going to impress Sherlock; neither in the past, nor nowadays.

“Why don't you do it, then?”

The ability to glamour someone would be incredibly helpful right now...

“I said, shut up!”

“No, you didn't. You told me to better not do anything stupid, which I am generally averse to, anyways.”

Pressure was added to the knife, now remarkably pressing onto the vampire's trachea. Not, that the brunet needed it, anyways.

Suddenly, however, as if the blond had changed his mind, the younger Holmes was pulled off the brick wall and spun around, apparently going to be flipped over onto the ground. However, that was the important point – Sherlock was no one to be simply manhandled around a dirty alleyway. In a matter of seconds, he decided to risk it, his left hand coming up to grab his attacker's right wrist, indeed wrenching it away, and in another single second, turning the table 180°.

A hiss escaped the hunter's throat, as he was now pushed against the same brick wall rather roughly, his right arm being painfully twisted onto his back; his other hand almost even desperately clawing at the wall. Sherlock leant in further, though, his cold lips almost even brushing over the shorter man's earlobe.

“You should have killed me as you had the generous chance to do so.”

A clearly noticeable shiver ran down the male's spine.

“But unfortunately you decided to greatly mess up your work. You hunters are nothing but a ridiculous children with a dagger in their hands.”

Sherlock indeed despised those stupid idiots. Of course, there were hunters being quite good at their job, taking out a dozen vampires before being killed off themselves due to another stupid mistake or an ambush, but people like this one were nothing but annoying cockroaches, trying to get someone's attention by delivering them a vampire's head.

However, the blond shouldn't have attempted to kill Sherlock Holmes, a centuries old vampire with too much experience for a whole life time.

“So what, are you just going to drain me right here? Like all the other people you killed?”  
  
At that, nonetheless, Sherlock hesitated; narrowed his eyes, almost even tilted his head in somewhat akin to interest.

“There are more. And they're going to search for me. They'll find you, and even if I don't manage to kill you tonight, they will. I know you, Holmes. And they do, too.”

Holmes' eyes narrowed further. Wait... he knew his name? Had he studied him? Had he stalked him? Until he deemed it to be the right time to move? And what did he mean with 'they'? Possibly a hunter's guild.

And right then, the option of killing the other off suddenly didn't seem to favourable anymore... Perhaps, keeping him alive to get more information – as well as having a living, producing blood source – would be wiser.

“I am not going to kill you.”

He could see the blond's eyes widening at that. The hunter obviously hadn't expected that answer, and probably already knew the other option. After all, there were rumours about vampire's keeping humans as their 'blood pets' roaming the streets already. And it quite obviously was every hunter's worst nightmare to become exactly that, no matter how pleasurable such a 'contract' could be, eventually.

“Don't you even think of kidnapping me, you bloody bastar–”

The man's body went limp within Sherlock's grip once his head had connected rather harshly with the brick wall in front of him, the quite enticing smell of fresh blood immediately filling the air. The mastermind couldn't help but sucking in a deep breath at that, though keeping himself from actually biting the other, despite his own growing hunger. He merely scooped the stranger up over his shoulder, and marched off into the direction of 221B Baker Street.

 


	2. Smalltalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little smalltalk between Predator and Prey. Though, is it really smalltalk? And who is hiding what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little longer than the first, though still rather short. Apologies for that!
> 
> However, here we have a tiny teaser of who is coming in the next chapter [Spoiler: OCs! *badum-tss*] and Mrs. Hudson's 'opinion' about her lodger's 'secret'.
> 
> Also, if you find mistakes in grammar or spelling, please tell me! You'll get a cookie and a friendly Thank You! [I'm still looking for a beta-reader, though...]
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy~

Perhaps having a hunter lying on the couch with no form of security was a bit of a foolish idea. After all, hunters were trained killers, and would absolutely use any possibility to either escape, or kill their target right off. Then again, this one hadn't. When the blond, named John Hamish Watson as Sherlock now knew, had the quite clear chance and threat to do so, nothing had happened. No dagger into the heart, not even a tiny cut. And exactly that, added to the fact that the man's guild apparently knew about the mastermind and his secret, had resulted in the smaller man now being in said brunet's flat...

Currently sitting in his armchair, legs crossed, and fingertips pressed against each other, the vampire's attentive gazed was completely focused on the unconscious human on the sofa, Sherlock's mind indeed circled around the words being spoken in the otherwise empty alleyway. He was indeed determined to find out, what exactly the hunter's guild knew. And how dangerous that could be going to be.

“Ugh...”

The young Holmes was suddenly dragged rather roughly out of his thoughts, focusing his attention back onto the now finally moving figure on the sofa. The blond rolled over, a hand coming up to touch his forehead – which had to be ponding after the rather harsh push against the brick wall just an hour ago. And then, out of nothing, the memories of exactly that situation seemed to come back to him; and he shot upwards, even if a little too quickly, perhaps.

“You're awake,” was Sherlock's only response, though the tone of his voice gave quite clearly away, how tensed, yet incredibly curious he actually was.

“You–”

“I knocked you out, indeed. A brilliant deduction of yours. Isn't it a little small and tight in those ordinary minds?”

Sherlock received a glare.

“Do not try and grab your next best dagger, please. It would be a completely ridiculous, yet perhaps entertaining sight, considering I, of course, stripped you of all sorts of weapons upon entering the flat.”

That, however, seemed to tense John even more, having him actually gritting his teeth and curling his hands into almost trembling fists.

“You didn't kill me.”

“Another amazing deduction. Of course I didn't kill you, as I told you beforehand.”

“No, the question is, _why_ didn't you kill me?”

“I didn't want to.”

“That's no answer. You leeches always want to kill and drain.”

What a narrow-minded opinion of vampires this particular hunter had. Perhaps something akin to a child-trauma was the cause? Either way, it didn't matter right now.

“John Hamish Watson,” Sherlock then nevertheless suddenly started, now standing up from his previously sitting position, and starting to pace around the sitting room, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The former soldier's eyes widened at that, then narrowed again; seemingly unsure of what to show more, shock or irritation. “How did you–?”

“The short-cut hair. Military stance, clearly from a few years in duty. The way you handled your dagger. No amateur. Oh, and of course the tanned skin, though not below your wrists? No one would wear clothing like that at a beach. Thus, added to the already said facts, a military uniform. So – Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John seemed to seriously consider the vampire's words, before his eyes seemed to widen in awe. Nonetheless, he needed almost a full minute to actually phrase his next answer correctly, resulting in Sherlock eventually stopping about half a metre away from the other, raising an expectant eyebrow.

“Afghanistan.”

“Afghanistan it was. Very well.”

“But why does that matter?”

“It doesn't. I was intrigued.”

“You just look at people and know facts about them?”

“I _deduce_ facts. I observe.”

“Right.”

A pause. No one said anything, merely stared at each other; as if attempting to predict each other's next turn, as if a fight was about to come up – but it didn't. Instead, the brunet mastermind simply turned around again, taking a seat at his armchair once more, though his icy blue orbs were still fixed on Watson.

“Why didn't you tie me up, if you're not going to kill me? I mean, you're surely just going to use me as some sort of... walking blood bag, and a hunter would... well, try to kill you while you do that, wouldn't they? I mean, I'm not suggesting anything...”

“What do you know about me?” was Sherlock's own answer, not putting any interest into the other's babbling. It almost even seemed like, he didn't even listen to him, but merely followed his own intentions.

Watson did hesitate at that question, though; about another full minute, before taking a deep breath. He still seemed tensed, somewhat braced for whatever might come. “Is this some sort of humouring? Or humiliation? Because you know exactly, I'm not some deducing mastermind.”

“No. Tell me what you know about me. You said it yourself, in the alley, you know me. Do tell me, what you know, then.

Again, hesitation. “Your name is Sherlock Holmes. And you're a vampire. Your... family has quite some reputation, bigger brother in the British Government. Um, you don't hunt much, I think you prefer bagged blood, or, well... I actually don't think you drink from animals, only a few rare vampires actually do that. And, well, you're already a century old. Not an easy target, then.”

For what the man had said so far, everything was right. And even though Sherlock had the suspicious feeling of the other not telling everything, the fact, that he knew about Mycroft, was already too much. Then again, everything he knew was already too much, the awareness of the vampire's bigger brother was just all too more damaging than the entire situation without it. Finally, Sherlock let out a hiss, eyes slightly narrowed during the human's explanation. He would obviously have to work on that. To get more information about simply everything.

“I see.”

“Am I right? I mean, you knew you were right as well, I think I deserve to know if I was.”

“Perhaps.”

And with that, the young genius stood up once more. The hunger – which was the reason for Sherlock to go on a hunt at all, was now all too apparent. Of course, he could go a little while more without blood, even though it probably wasn't healthy. Nevertheless, he was not going to bite this one just yet. He had to plan things carefully, and the risk getting into another serious fight, or rather, not getting anything out of the man was still too high at this point. He would wait. And get himself a little help, or... tools to achieve his goal.

“What do you mean, perhaps?”

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps you're not. Obviously.”

He could see the blond's brows furrowing at that answer, mouth opening for another objection, yet closing right after again; as if he had changed his mind all of sudden. Now, he was merely watching his kidnapper, as Sherlock pulled out his phone. It was obvious, that the shorter man would probably suspect anything, but for now, the taller one really didn't care about that. And if he couldn't call his brother – considering that the hunters apparently already knew about him, and it indeed would be a quite high risk of getting him over – he would call someone else.

 

_221B Baker Street at 11pm. Tell Josef as well. – SH_

 

What a great coincidence, that Mrs. Hudson was out for the entire week...

 


	3. Who said, a feeding has to be painful~?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even a vampire's party needs snacks, just like the human ones. And, since John is the only 'living' being in the flat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I have to apology for the incredibly late chapter. Real life ate me, and then, at sunday, when I was just about to finish the third chapter, my cold's level went over nine thousand, and left me in bed. Ugh. It definitely was not intended to publish it so very lately, sorry!
> 
> However, thank you all for your incredible patience! I really appreciate that! <3
> 
> Now a few informations about the OCs appearing in this chapter.  
> Thomas' faceclaim is David Tennant. His personality, as you may already see, is incredibly bouncy, like a little, dangerous, psychopathic child. The kind of psychopathic child you really don't want to have in your neighbourhood. 
> 
> Josef's faceclaim is Jason Dohring, who's also known for his vampiric character "Josef Kostan" in Moonlight. His character in my fanfiction is basically based off on him, even though he's way more 'anti-human' and prefers bagged blood over humans, other than in the actual TV series. Thus, he's not completely copied! Of course, the rest of the copyright goes to the developers of Moonlight.
> 
> The age of them both is unknown so far. Perhaps, I'll reveal it later on.
> 
> Last but not least:  
> DO NOT FEED THEM! D:  
> I don't know what happens if you start feeding them, but I expect the worst... D:
> 
> And, of course, if you find any spelling or grammar mistakes, please tell me! You'll get a cookie and my never-dying love! <3

At punctually 11pm, a loud knock on the front door of 221 Baker Street quite obviously announced the arrival of another person, which, also rather obviously, wanted to visit the vampire himself. Who it was, and what they wanted, the hunter couldn't tell at this moment – Sherlock was all too sure that the man was no psychic. After all, that would be a little too much, even in this world full of blood sucking predators – and Sherlock liked it that way. However, he still needed to open the door, given that none of his guests would dare to pick the lock of his home. There was some sort of respect between vampires, still, no matter how close their relationship seemed.

“I'll be back in a few. Don't move,” the brunet eventually merely mumbled towards John, before turning towards the door of his flat and leaving. He knew, the blond wouldn't just sit there and wait for the vampire's return. Only a stupid hunter would actually do that, and John was – surprisingly enough – not one of that kind. However, since the only exit would be the front door of the flat, everything else locked securely, Sherlock did not worry about that right now. Much more about the social interacting he would have to bear in a moment.

“Sherlock! Nice to see you! I was seriously surprised at your text, you know,” was the first way too excited voice practically jumping at the tall man the second he had opened the door. And the face belonging to the voice wasn't anything less excited, either. Thomas always was way too happy and bouncy for Sherlock's taste, yet he seemed to be one of his closest contacts.

“Thomas. Welcome,” was the vampire's rather short answer, as he now took a step backwards to provide enough space for his guests to enter the house.

“Could have sent me a text message as well if even Thomas gets a personal one. I'm disappointed in you, Sherlock.”

Icy blue eyes shot towards the second vampire entering the flat, even though his features seemed to soften just a little bit, and only for a single second.

“Josef. Well, I figured my text message would be drowned by business messages of your clients. After all, such a busy man as you does not earn much spare time, anyways. I am glad you managed to follow my invitation, though.”

“Money doesn't always give me the pleasure of meeting famous Sherlock Holmes, though. I wonder what he's got in his sleeve this time? You're never throwing invitations around if it's just something ordinary, are you?”

Thomas, meanwhile, already made his way up the stairs to the first floor, though stopping midway; almost even a shocked expression was now showing on his face. “Wait... is that a human heartbeat I'm hearing there? Oh, don't tell me you got yourself a pretty blood pet, Sherlock! I didn't know you're on of _that_ kind!”

Right then, however, Sherlock very much abandoned the ongoing conversation with Josef and shot a glare towards his other friend. He liked Thomas – to some really small extend, of course – but sometimes he really was just annoying. Especially now.

“Call it whatever you want, but that human upstairs is indeed the reason I've invited you two for. Don't break him. At least not physically, you will have to replace him.”

“ _Him_? Oh, it's a guy! I really thought you'd get yourself a woman...”

“Isn't it completely unimportant whomever Sherlock got himself?” was Josef's rather annoyed comment eventually, and a sigh was clearly audibly slipping past his throat.

“Don't be such a kill-joy, Josef. Sherlock's got more on himself than you. You would never even touch one of these adorable little humans, you're way too much drowning in your work and your disgusting bagged blood. Did you know, that bagged blood does in fact come from humans? Hopefully, you won't start eating rats now...”

The glare he earned from both, Josef _and_ Sherlock, was withering, and with a small pout on his lips, he turned back towards climbing up the stairs.

The door was eventually closed and Sherlock followed his guests up the stairs as well, closing that door once he was inside as well. What he didn't expect to see, though, was Thomas pressing exactly the human hunter against the wall, Sherlock had previously left sitting on the couch. Of course, the brunet hadn't expected the man to be still sitting there, but being actually in a physical fight with one of the other vampires? That was either a wonderful death-wish, or an attempt to escape. Both were equally stupid, to be honest.

“He's a hunter?” Thomas' voice sounded surprised. And somewhat, Sherlock did not wonder about him having found out about John's 'occupation' that fast. After all, he was centuries old, just as Sherlock. Somehow, vampire's learnt to recognise a hunter at the mere sight of one taking a step forward.

“He attacked me,” was the host's final response.

“Oi, and you kept him alive? No nibbling at his neck, at least? Sherlock, I'm disappointed!”

An annoyed roll of Sherlock's eyeballs, before he proceeded to step through the hallway into the sitting room, taking a seat at his armchair.

“You can have your toll on him, as long as you don't fully kill him.”

That, however, seemed to somewhat calm Thomas, and his attention went back to the prey he had trapped under his paw.   
“Seriously?” he asked. After all, he had learnt to better not mess with Sherlock's belongings way too early. “He smells and looks delicious... You sure you wouldn't want the first pint?”

“Go on, Thomas.”

And with that, the last restraints holding the brunet back seemed to magically vanish, and he quite immediately went over to nuzzling the human's neck.

John, on his part, did not like that one single bit. How could he? He used to hunt vampires, and now one was going to 'nibble on his neck'? The blond struggled at his best, tried to push the other away, attempted to put a knee between the stranger's body and his own, no matter how close they were pressed against each other. But no matter what the hunter tried, it just wouldn't work.

Probably everyone on this room, except Watson himself, could hear the man's heart rate picking up, the adrenaline feeding more and more panic to the shorter one's mind. And it even doubled the second Thomas' fangs indeed entered the human's neck, quickly enough hitting his jugular, and the first drops of warm, fresh blood entering the vampire's mouth. A moan passed his nose at that, eyes closing, and all of his attention concentrating on that incredibly wonderful blood. It was rare he had such delicious humans, indeed...

Josef, meanwhile, simply passed them as he made his way over to into the sitting room, position himself in front of the owner of the flat.

“I hope you have bagged blood as well. I would prefer to not take anything into my mouth, which is covered in Thomas saliva...”

Something akin to a smirk now crossed the sitting figure's facial expression as he glanced up at the other.   
“The fridge.”

And with that, the businessman stalked off, and Sherlock's gaze returned to Thomas little 'snack'.

The brunet himself was rather content with the current situation, indeed. He enjoyed the feeding perhaps even way too much, eventually taking quite some big draughts from the other; who now seemed to have fully relaxed in Thomas' grip. And right then, as the vampire pressed just a little closer, his hands soon releasing the hunter's wrists in favour of supporting his head and neck – his own body supporting the man's – he felt a moan pretty much vibrating in the other's torso. Of course, he knew of the vampires' venom, causing pure relaxation and pleasure in a human's body – since it wouldn't be beneficial if the victim struggled and eventually ripped open their jugular at a vamp's fang – but Thomas indeed enjoyed it every single time. And no matter of the then beginning, almost not even subtle, grinding of the blond's hips, his 'predicament' clearly noticeable in his trousers. But, Thomas being a full-grown gentleman, would never take another vampire's toy... Therefore, the feeding was ended exactly that second, Thomas retracting his fangs and his tongue quickly brushing over the two puncture wounds to encourage the healing process.

It took him about a few moments to eventually raise his voice, though.

“He's delicious, got yourself a specimen...”

“I bet he is. You seemed to very enjoy your snack,” was Sherlock's response, the tone of his voice merely _knowing_. Of course he knew of the venom and its effect. But watching it with Thomas was different every single time.

Josef returned to the sitting room now, though, having poured himself a glass of blood, at which he was sipping contently while taking a comfortable seat at the couch.

The first guest didn't reply, nevertheless, now merely assisting John in practically picking him off the wall and over to the second armchair, pretty much flopping him onto it; and afterwards taking lowering himself onto the couch as well.

John, on his part, was now almost even on display; like a good to buy on a market, presented to its buyers. His erection was more than visible through his trousers by his slumped position on the armchair, and he didn't even seem to care about it too much; gaze clouded, an occasional mumbling rolling off his lips, before continuing to merely float in the comfortable High. Once he returned to reality, the realisation of what just happened would be heavy; but until then, Sherlock would merely wait. The damage was already done and it would simplify the 'challenge' way more than to actually try and hunt him down. Besides, Thomas was happy as well and wouldn't bounce through the entire flat. Just like a little child being satiated and ready for its nap.

 


	4. Casual Conversations?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick casual conversation between Sherlock's guests, their host, and his new pet. New mysteries?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a whole eternity since I last posted a chapter on this fanfiction, but I've been rather busy so far. I hope I can post more chapters and new fanfictions in future now. Sorry for the inconvenience!

The first stir of the human in the armchair caused Sherlock's attention to shift towards the hunter slowly coming off his high. Icy blue eyes narrowing just a little bit, he watched the man briefly twitching and moaning, the erection – unfortunately – already gone. Well, it hadn't been that much time since Thomas had generously laid guided him into the armchair, but it had been enough. And the second the man's gaze finally regained some consciousness and wit, the realisation of what had happened quite obviously finally sinking into his mind, Sherlock's lips seemed to stretch into a light smirk.

“Now, Sherlock Holmes is smiling. Wouldn't have thought I'd see that being still alive...”

The mastermind's attention immediately turned towards Thomas, the smirk fading on the instant, replaced by a cold glare.

“Oh, c'mon... It was a _joke_. Nothing more.”

The brunet's glare intensified. Sometimes, he really loathed Thomas. Especially if he was to comment every and each thing just like that. Seemed like he hadn't gotten enough blood tonight...

“I do not take jokes kindly, Thomas. You should know that by now. I just fed you, and you happen to appear ungrateful...”

“I'm not ungrateful, come on! Just a little teasing. Jesus Christ, you really are hungry, aren't you?”

“What makes you think I'm hungry?”

“You're always grumpy if you are. _Unbearable_...”

Something akin to a snorted chuckle sounded from Josef at that, and as Sherlock glanced towards him, he seemed rather amused. The vampire finally remembered why he usually never invited those both at one time. Or why he never invited anyone, really.

“Whatever.”

The tone of Sherlock's voice seemed to soften just a tiny bit, not entirely sure what to make out of this. Instead, if his focus shifted back towards John, who was now finally sitting perfectly upright in his armchair. Blush on his cheeks, his heart beating as fast as a roller coaster, and even more adrenaline quite obviously searing through his system. It almost even seemed as if he was embarrassed about what had happened only minutes ago – and honestly, that was exactly what Sherlock wanted to achieve. To make him uncomfortable, show him who was in charge. That he was outnumbered, and that he wouldn't stop anyone of his friends if they decided to drain the other; despite the fact, that Sherlock sure as well would. It was merely an act he was keeping up, and so far it was working perfectly fine.

Suddenly, however, his focused once more changed as soon as Thomas manoeuvred himself into a standing position, quietly wandering off into the kitchen. John didn't even once looked after him, gaze pointedly staring at the ground. A few seconds later, the man returned with another glass filled with blood, and offered it to the host.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Of course you are. You're looking at your pet like a lion at the giraffe.”

Sherlock squinted at that, a mild grimace tugging at his expression. He hated Thomas' comparisons, seriously.

“Take the sodding blood, mate. It's _disgusting_ to even hold it in my hands. Take the burden away from me... Or do you want my nose to suffer a horrible death because of this stinking bagged blood?”

Only reluctantly, the brunet accepted the drink, and only gradually lifted it up to his lips. Took one or two sips, before returning it to his lap; and eventually onto the coffee table. He had to admit that his mind was basically screaming at him to finally feed, to lunge at the human seated only a few metres away from him; to latch onto his throat, and get a good fill. But he didn't. Trained self-restrain since years on end,simply nibbling at a stupid glass of bagged blood. He would surely kill the hunter if he fed on him right now, and that really wasn't his intention...

“Have you thought about the hunter coven in London?”

Josef's voice quickly caused Sherlock to glance over at him. And within seconds he realised what the other vampire was talking about. Not all hunters roaming the street were member of the local hunter coven, there were indeed some 'lone wolves' hunting entirely on their own. However, there was no chance a vampire could tell if a hunter was part of a coven. They usually didn't have something like a sign or a flag every member carried around, really; they were smarter than that.  
Sherlock's gaze switched towards John, whose composure seemed to be somewhat fixed again. Really, he was doing well for his probably first experience of being fed on. Of course there was a certain possibility that he had had something like this before, but considering the today's vampire society and the blond's 'job', he would be dead then.

“Of course I have considered that possibility.”

“They'll blow up not only apartment if they find out that you basically kidnapped one of their hunters.”

John cleared his throat at that, quite uncomfortably shifting in his seat. He didn't verbally answer, but the reaction erased any necessity for that.

“They would have done it already if he was part of a hunter coven.”

Thomas looked up at that; quite obviously still rather amused by the whole situation.

“Are you sure, darling?” he asked, the tone of his voice as light as feather, almost even completely careless of the of the severity of the situation. “Maybe they're planning your downfall. You know, you Holmes are basically _famous_ among the vampire society, and if this one tried to kill you, I'm sure they'll be longing to get their hands on your throat.”

“I'm working alone.”

The all of sudden intervention of the human had all three vampires turning their heads towards the blond, John himself nonetheless acting rather confident. 

“I'm not member of a hunter coven. Couldn't work with their conditions.”

Thomas arched an eyebrow at that, glancing once at Sherlock, before back at the hunter. They were all not exactly sure if John was telling the truth; after all, what could be seen as an attack towards the hunters, could also trigger a vicious attack of the vampires, if a coven's hunter attacked someone as old as Sherlock Holmes. However, the brunet mastermind didn't plan on actually leading his fellow vampires into a massacre. For now, he was entirely satisfied with the his hostage. He didn't even once think about telling his elder brother – although Mycroft probably already new, thanks to his CCTV, that probably wasn't only on the streets. Sherlock had spent multiple hours with searching for cameras around his flat, but eventually gave up on that.

“I am surprised you aren't. Hunting vampires like me all on your own is a very dangerous business.”

Sherlock's voice sounded calm and collected; but doubtful.

“And I am surprised you're doing nothing else but sending this bastard onto my throat.”

There was a mild chuckle of Thomas at that, Josef simply shaking his head lightly. John ignored that, though, his glare focused on no one but Sherlock.

“I admit, I kind of... underestimated you. But that won't happen another time.”

And suddenly, there was indeed something akin to a smile flashing over the ancient vampire's face, albeit only for a very short time. 

“Boring.”

John seemed a little irritated at that, eyes narrowing at the phrase. He had done a lot of bloody research to be capable of even remotely fighting against this vampire, had been captured nonetheless, and this guy had the goddamn nerves to call him _boring_?

Suddenly, however, his train of thoughts was disturbed by an all of sudden movement right before his eyes, his focus momentarily shifting towards Thomas, who had just stood up.

“Alright, ladies – whilst you two keep barking at each other like a pack of stupid mutts, I'll be going to my very important appointment. More important than you two, unfortunately, but I promise, Sherlock, I'll call you once I'm finished.”

He flashed a bright grin at the host of the little party, and finally turned towards the door. 

“Josef, my dear, will you come? I'm sure Sherlock wouldn't mind if you just kept that glass of disgusting bagged blood, he probably won't need it anyways.”

Josef only reluctantly stood up from his previously rather comfortably sitting position, downing the rest of his blood drink, and returning the glass into the kitchen sink. Without another word, he followed his colleague out of the door, and shut said object after him. Now Sherlock and John where entirely alone...


	5. Rumours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... Seems like I should not make any more promises abouttowards when I will post more chapters and more fanfictions in general. Let's just hope this hasn't been the last one for this year!
> 
> Also, I apologise for the short chapter.
> 
> Cookies for everyone who finds grammar and spelling mistakes, as always.

Only a few minutes after the two vampires had left, there was another pair of footsteps climbing up the stairs. Sherlock, for his part, immediately recognised the walking pattern. Knew the little tap of that suspiciously loud umbrella, the way the newcomers weight swayed on his legs from side to side as he walked. In reality it wasn't as bad as it pictured in Sherlock's head, of course. But that didn't keep the younger Holmes from thinking like that nonetheless.

“I've heard you've had quite a hassle with a hunter recently, brother-dear.” 

The all too familiar voice boomed through the living room of 221B Baker Street, and it instantly filled Sherlock's expression with something akin to disgust. He didn't fully show it, not yet, but it was there. And it was too obvious for someone as intelligent and observing as his elder brother.

“ _Mycroft_. What invisible invitation brought you here?”

The ancient vampire's gaze turned towards the blond figure in the armchair across from Sherlock, a knowing gaze scanning over the other's form. Taking in the slowly fading bite marks on his neck, the way the man squirmed beneath his eyes. How his muscles tensed the second he was aware of the second powerful vampire entering the room, how he tried to appear with at least _some_ pride. It was all entirely useless, of course. 

“Is that him? The hunter?”

Sherlock could feel Mycroft's gaze returning to himself, whilst he kept his own eyes locked on John's frame. As if he might be the anchor that would safe him from drowning in Mycroft's absolutely annoying attention. 

“I don't suppose that is of any interest to you.”

“It is, unfortunately. You have been stirring in the pot of anger between our fractions. There have been countless attacks around London. Rumours say you were the cause.”

Finally, Sherlock glanced up at his elder brother, albeit with the most vicious glare he could manage. 

“They _always_ say that. I'm the _failed brother_ , remember?”

Mycroft quite easily withstood that stabbing glare with a somewhat worried one of his own. It was clear he wasn't nearly as disgusted and irritated of seeing his little brother as Sherlock was the other way around.

“You know who he is, don't you, brother-mine?”

At that, however, a short silence followed. Since the time he had captured the hunter he hadn't had time to actually search for his past. There had been a constant hurry about the other. First bringing him inside, then the visit of Thomas and Josef to prove a point, and now Mycroft. If he was to be honest, he didn't know a single thing about the other's person, aside from the obvious that was found on his body like an open book. 

“He's a _Watson_ , Sherlock.”

“Now, that makes the catch even more outstanding, doesn't it? I am sure it will do only good to your reputation if you spread the information in your little vampire circle.”

“The hunters took your _catch_ as the perfect opportunity to break the temporary truce we had with them. They're taking not only the rogue vampires off the city's streets, now, they're attacking _us_ as well.”

Finally, the brunet turned his gaze away, once more glancing back at John; who seemed to have grown rather tensed, indeed. Staring up at Mycroft with such a hatred.

“You will have to get rid of the problem as soon as possible, Sherlock. Or _I_ will do that for you.”

A short glare followed the threat, before the personified British Government turned on his heels, and left the flat once more. 

Silence followed that, seemingly thick enough to be cut with a knife. It was until John himself cleared his throat after what felt like half of an eternity.

“Mycroft Holmes. Your bloody _brother_.”

The mastermind glanced up at that, piercing blue eyes focusing on the former soldier. 

“Problem?”

“No, no. I simply realised what a fucked up family the great Holmes' are.”

Sherlock turned his gaze away once more. John might be all too right with that. And despite the fact, that Sherlock liked to say that he didn't care about that, there was a very small part of himself that did. He tried to shake that thought off, though, and rather focused on the insatiable burn right in his throat. He was still rather thirsty, no matter his usual habit of not listening to the needs of his transport, and he decided to get a bit of a drink. A drink that was _not_ a blood bag.

“We're going out.”


End file.
